One Good Reason (Boston Love #3)(28)

“How much longer are you going to delay getting on the boat?”

“At the very least until you stop bouncing like a six-year-old in an inflatable castle.”

He stops, but his boyish grin never wavers. “There — I’ve stopped. Now, come on, scaredy cat. You won’t fall in. I’ve got you.”

My chin jerks up. “I’m not scared.”

I’m not scared of anything.

“Prove it,” he says, that challenging look back in his eye.

I grit my teeth and reach down to pull off my heels, one by one. Without saying a word, I shove them into the space between us and wait for Parker to take them.

His mouth opens, a question poised on his lips.

“Shut up,” I cut him off, still holding out the shoes. “And take the damn heels before I change my mind.”

He’s silent as his large hands close around the slingback straps and even manages not to say anything as I grudgingly pass over my laptop bag. He can’t quite hide the way his lips twitch, though, as he watches me jumping from foot to foot on the freezing dock, trying to stay warm.

“Not a word,” I mutter in a threatening tone.

His eyes glitter with amusement but he remains silent.

Forcing a deep breath into my lungs, I make myself take a step onto the gangway. And then another. And another.

I’m watching my feet, entirely focused on not toppling into the water, so I don’t notice Parker hasn’t moved from the middle of the board. I bump straight into his chest, the jolt of my body against his throwing me off balance. For a split second, I actually think I am going to fall into that icy water and drown.

“Whoa,” he whispers, his hands coming up to steady my shoulders. I can feel the warmth of his strong palms radiating through my thin blazer. My pulse is pounding like a kick-drum as we stand suspended over the water, eyes locked. Invading each other’s space. Breathing each other in.

“There. That wasn’t too hard, was it?” he asks in a soft, serious tone.

I pause and, equally serious, whisper, “That’s what she said.”

He throws his head back and laughs. “I could kiss you, for that,” he says when he’s done chuckling.

“You’d better not,” I warn. “Or I’ll push you in the harbor and leave you to freeze. And I’ve heard hypothermia isn’t exactly a bucket of laughs.”

“You happen to know the cure for hypothermia?” he asks, grinning.

“I have a feeling I don’t want to know.”

“Best way to warm up — climb inside a sleeping bag naked with the nearest available human.” His eyes crinkle. “That would be you, darling.”

“I think I’d rather let you freeze. I’ve heard your appendages turn black and fall off.” My eyes narrow. “Fingers. Toes. Your pen—”

“AH!” He cuts me off with a grimace. “Don’t finish that sentence.”

Muttering something under his breath about me being evil, he turns and walks onto the sailboat. I keep my eyes on his shoulder blades as I follow him onboard, and with the warmth of his presence radiating through my chest, I don’t spare a single bit of attention to the icy water beneath my feet.



* * *



“Here.” Parker shoves a ball of fabric at me almost as soon as we step down into the cabin — it looks vaguely like the suit the Gorton’s fish stick man wears, but it’s white instead of bright yellow. I stare at it like a venomous animal.

“What is that?”

“Just put it on.” He moves closer and bends until we’re eye to eye. “It’ll be huge on you, but at least it’ll keep you warm.”

“Warm for what?” I ask suspiciously.

“I seem to remember you agreeing to stick around for at least one spontaneous adventure. That does not include asking a thousand questions.”

“I didn’t agree. You browbeat me until I caved in.”

“Semantics.” He grins. “Just put it on.”

“It’s about two degrees out. You don’t really expect me to go sailing with you, right? People don’t sail in the winter.”

“How would you know?”

“Parker.”

“What’s the worst that can happen?”

My eyes bug out. “Windburn. Frostbite. Drowning. Exposure… Need I go on?”

“Live a little.”

“I am living. It’s the imminent death-at-sea that I’m worried about.”

He grins as he places a set of rubber boots in front of me. “These will be way too big on your tiny little feet, but they’re all I have. I’ll have to get a smaller pair for next time.”

“Next time? What do you mean, next time?”

He stares at my bare feet and for the first moment in my life, I find myself wishing I was one of those girls who keeps her toes perfectly pedicured at all times. Against the hardwood, they look pale and, I must admit, very small.

“Though, I don’t know if they make these in kids sizes,” he murmurs to himself.

“My feet are not tiny! They’re a size six. That’s a perfectly normal size.”

He doesn’t respond. He’s busy moving through the cabin — which, now that I’ve taken the time to look around, I must admit is really f*cking amazing for a boat.